The Time of Your Life
by Jimelda
Summary: Jate AU. Amidst the chaos that surrounds them, both Jack and Kate need something solid to hold on to. As they grow up together, having only each other to depend on, will it be enough? And what happens when their feelings for each other get in the way?
1. Prologue: The Party

**Title: **The Time of Your Life  
**Rating: **PG, but there will probably be more mature content in later chapters  
**Disclaimer: **Neither the characters nor the music used in this fic belong to me  
**Summary: **Brought together by their own difficult childhoods, Jack and Kate gain strength from each other. But when their feelings get in the way, will it be enough to break them apart? Or does love really triumph over all?  
**A/N: **Ideas for this fic have been running around in my head for a while now and I finally decided to write them down. I know this chapter is really short, but I wanted to take a poll before I can finish the next part. One more thing, for the purpose of this fic, let's say Jack and Kate are only a year apart in age; if I used their real age difference (almost 11 years), none of these chapters would be possible. I ended up making Jack younger instead of making Kate older, because I thought it would be more fun that way. But most of the ages in this fic are just approximations anyway, with a little help from Lostpedia. ;)

* * *

**Prologue: The Party**

_Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road  
__Time grabs you wrist, directs you where to go  
__So make the best of this test and don't ask why  
__It's not a question but a lesson learned in time  
__It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right  
__I hope you had the time of your life  
_~Green Day, _Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)_

_July 8, 1981_

"Happy birthday," called a voice from across the room.

Jack turned away from the gathering of relatives crowded around him to watch his mother carry a fancy white birthday cake into the dining room. She placed it on the table gently and lit the few elegant candles on top before calling everyone over.

"Sit here, Jack," she told him, helping him into the chair at the head of the table where his father usually sat.

He gazed up at her in wonder. "But won't Dad be – "

Booming laughter from behind cut him off. Christian Shephard patted his son's shoulder affectionately.

"Of course I'm not mad, son. It's your birthday, you deserve to be the center of attention. I think you can handle sitting in my chair for one day, huh?" The rest of the guests chuckled in amusement but Jack's face flushed a deep red as he shrank away from the hand still clenched around his shoulder.

"Well, don't keep everyone waiting. Blow out the candles, Jack," Christian said forcefully, ignoring his wife's reproachful stare.

"Don't forget to make a wish," Margo added.

Jack took a deep breath and, leaning down so his nose was almost touching the icing, he blew as hard as he could, all the while thinking of nothing but his wish; the one thing he wanted more than anything else in the world. He was concentrating so hard that he barely heard everyone clapping politely for him.

It was only when his father bent down and whispered in his ear, "Happy fifth birthday, kiddo," that Jack looked up. But he didn't see his mother smiling proudly at him, nor did he pay attention to the congratulatory wishes from his aunts and uncles. All Jack noticed was the tinkling sound of ice in his father's cup and the strong smell of scotch on his breath, and his heart sunk when he realized his wish hadn't come true at all.

* * *

So, now for the poll. My question is whether or not you would like me to add any other Losties to this fic. Kate will make her appearance in a few chapters, but I'm not quite sure who else to include. If you have any suggestions or requests, I would love to hear them. I really need some answers before I can post the next chapter. Thanks. :)


	2. Chapter 1: The Aftermath

I just wanted to say thanks to everyone for all the reviews and ideas you have given me. You can look forward to seeing Kate and some other characters soon. :)

* * *

**Chapter One: The Aftermath**

_Hate me today  
Hate me tomorrow  
Hate me for all the things I didn't do for you  
Hate me in ways, yeah ways hard to swallow  
Hate me so you can finally see what's good for you  
~ _Blue October, _Hate Me_

_Jack Shephard first began hating his father when he was five years old._

It was nearly eleven o'clock before Jack's party finally ended. He was sprawled out on one of the armchairs, exhausted after having to entertain all his relatives for so long, and waiting for someone to tell him it was time for bed.

But neither of his parents were paying much attention to him at the moment; despite his fatigue Jack could hear them arguing loudly in the kitchen.

"What do you mean it was too much?" his father was asking.

"I just think that we should have asked Jack what _he _wanted this time, instead of forcing every member of the family on him!" came Margo's reply.

She fell silent immediately, seeming to have realized she'd gone too far. Jack could already imagine what his father would say.

_"Ask Jack? For god's sakes, Margo. He's just a kid, he doesn't know what he wants. He can hardly decide what kind of cereal to have for breakfast, let alone plan a party."_

Jack had heard this same argument too many times to be worried about it anymore. His dad was always happier to be the one making the decisions and Jack was happy to let him; as long as it would stop his parents from fighting with each other he didn't care what he had to do.

But his efforts never seemed to do any good, especially when his father wasn't thinking clearly and got so caught up in an argument that he would do anything it took to win. And this time was no different.

Slipping out of the chair and down the hallway, Jack could still hear his father's cool, even voice. He waited for his mother's hot-tempered reply and, sure enough, it echoed loudly throughout the house.

"Don't talk to me about Jack not knowing what he wants! He takes after you, I suppose."

Jack halted his footsteps, wanting to be silent so he could hear his father's reply. Though he didn't understand his mother's comment, it must have been serious because she sounded close to tears.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Christian asked, though his voice had lost its arrogant, self-assured tone. He was worried.

"Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about," Margo replied, her words cold as ice.

"I know a lot of things," Christian countered, matching her tone. "You'll have to be more specific."

"The other women!" Margo nearly shrieked. "Do you think I don't wonder where you go when you leave the house for days at a time? Do you think I don't call the hospital and see if it's some sort of business trip because, god forbid, you could ever give me a straight answer about anything you do these days!"

She was becoming more and more frantic as she spoke. Jack could picture her face flushing a deeper red with each word.

"And imagine my surprise when I find out your latest 'adventure' has nothing to do with your job, but everything to do with some damn woman in Australia! I hope she's the only one but at this point, I wouldn't be surprised if you're meeting someone else every goddam time you leave the house!"

In the stunned silence that followed, Jack began quietly inching along the hallway, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping when the conversation was over.

But as he heard a loud smack, he froze. In an instant he had turned around and was running back towards the kitchen when he skidded to a stop. Listening hard for any cries of pain, it wasn't until Christian and Margo began speaking again that Jack let out a sigh of relief.

_Dad must have smacked the table or something_, he reasoned with himself.

Jack knew his father would never hit him or his mother, but sometimes he got carried away after he'd had a bit too much to drink. Usually Jack was there to make sure he didn't go too far, but he wasn't always ready in case something bad happened.

His greatest fear was that one day his father would snap and react much like he had a few seconds ago, only hitting another person instead of a piece of furniture. Thankfully that didn't seem to have happened this time...

He only wished there was a way to make it all stop; to have his parents laughing with each other instead of fighting, and for there to be pleasant conversation around the dinner table, instead of the silence Jack had become so used to.

And most of the silence that filled the house these days was because of Christian. Though he had always been a reserved and prestigious man, these days he was becoming more and more sullen. He spent more time locked away in his study than he did with his family.

It all came back to his father's drinking, as young as he was Jack understood that. So maybe there _was_ a way to put a stop to this cold and isolated lifestyle...

Being as quiet as possible – though not because he was listening to his parents' conversation anymore, but because he didn't want to be heard – Jack slunk towards the large, oak door at the far end of the hall.

Usually he knocked and waited for his father to tell him it was okay to enter, but since Christian was still in the kitchen, Jack pushed the heavy door open right away.

Being in his father's study always made him feel small, but standing in it alone was even more intimidating.

Stretching onto his tiptoes, Jack scanned the room for the tray where his father usually kept his alcohol. Though he didn't quite understand how it worked, Jack knew that it made people do very strange things, things they normally wouldn't do; he had seen too many celebrations turn out badly because of the influence of alcohol.

Which was why he had to get rid of it, to stop his father from lashing out all the time or acting so depressed during one of his 'mood swings'. The one thing Jack wanted most was a normal family, and maybe if Christian didn't drink so much then they would finally have a chance to be one.

But the tray on which his father's precious container alcohol decanter was sitting was too high up. Even after spotting it, Jack had to stand on the black leather chair behind Christian's desk to reach it.

Crawling onto it, he had just reached over and grabbed the crystal glass when the seat spun violently, knocking him off.

Jack clutched the container to his chest, the amber liquid sloshing all over his clothes as he landed hard on his back, cracking his head against the side of the desk.

He lay unmoving, his head spinning dizzyingly until footsteps down the hall startled him from his daze. Terrified of being discovered, Jack panicked and hid under the desk, not moving an inch despite how uncomfortable he was.

And he was very uncomfortable indeed. His head was aching, the pain a constant throbbing behind his eyes, and he was drenched in the very substance he hated more than anything else. The intoxicating smell was enough to make his eyes water, but the small part of him that was attracted to the scent was what made him want to retch.

Suddenly the door creaked open and Jack watched from underneath the desk as his father's shoes slowly walked towards him then paused while he surveyed the mess of his office.

"Jack, I am going to ask you once to come out now, before I have to drag you out here myself," he said, keeping his voice neutral so Jack couldn't tell how angry he was.

Deciding it was safer to stay put, he crawled further beneath his hiding spot until a hand grabbed onto his arm and roughly pulled him out.

Jack found himself staring up into his father's face as Christian sat down, folding his hands together. Overcome with absolute terror, it took him a while to realize he was still holding the crystal decanter tightly to his chest. He made to place it on the desk, but Christian shook his head sharply.

"You can keep that, son. It's worthless to me now," he said, his words causing Jack to look down in shame. His face reddened as he saw the dark brown stain that had been left on the carpet beneath him.

After a long moment of embarrassed silence, at least on Jack's part, Christian finally spoke once more.

"What did you think you were doing?" he asked, using the same impartial tone.

Jack didn't answer, this time afraid to tell the truth. He knew that his father was still mad after the fight with his mother, and Jack was afraid Christian would take out his anger on him.

"Look at me," Christian commanded and Jack felt ashamed as his head rose to meet his father's gaze. "Now, tell me what you were doing."

Looking into Christian's lined face, a small amount of defiance rose within Jack's chest. He wasn't about to be humiliated by his father, not this time, not when he was only trying to do the right thing.

"I want us to be a family again," he said clearly, watching in smug satisfaction as Christian blinked in surprise. He clearly hadn't been expecting that response.

"And what does my alcohol have do to with that, son?" he asked, not questioning Jack's statement at all. Jack began to realize that not only was his father was patronizing him, he was actually enjoying himself.

Shaking with anger, Jack gripped the decanter even more tightly in his hands.

"When you drink it, it makes you...different," he said, unable to find the words that described the subtle, yet very real change that happened to his father whenever he drank from that crystal glass he was always carrying around.

Christian laughed loudly and Jack's face turned an even deeper red.

"I'm the same as I've always been, kiddo. Trust me, I know how to handle my liquor." When his word's earned no response, Christian chuckled ruefully.

"Always trying to be the hero, aren't you son? Well let me give you a word of advice. The time will come when you'll have a stressful job like mine, and there will be days when you'll need to come home and have a few drinks to take your mind off of things. There's nothing wrong with that, is there?"

He waited for his son to nod, which Jack reluctantly did, before continuing.

"But if you really want to succeed at your job, like I do, you have to learn not to be the hero. Don't choose, don't decide, because if you fail...well, you just don't have what it takes."

When he finished, they both stood there in silence again, but this time Jack's mind was reeling. He hadn't understood half of what his father had actually said, but he got the gist of it.

Now Christian was drumming his fingers on the top of his desk, expecting a reply, and Jack didn't know what to say.

"O-okay," he stuttered weakly; all the bravado had gone out of him after his father's speech.

Christian nodded, the ghost of a smile lingering on his lips, as he leaned back in his chair.

"Good. Don't forget that, it's the most important lesson you will ever learn," he said, though Jack doubted he would ever be able to forget this moment. "Go to bed now, Jack, before your mother finds out you're still awake."

Jack nodded, forcing his feet to move towards the door. Halfway across the room, he turned back and looked at his father one more time, a question already forming on his lips. Needing to ask it before his courage disappeared, Jack knew there was nothing left to lose anyway.

"How come you and Mom are always fighting?" he wondered, causing Christian to stare at him stonily. Jack waited for his father to throw him out of his office, certain he had overstepped the boundaries, and that Christian would begin shouting at any moment.

But when he answered, his voice was weary and filled with years of sadness.

"I made the wrong choice when I married her, Jack. We were never meant to be together."

Jack's mouth dropped open, he couldn't believe what he'd just heard. And after a minute or two, Christian seemed to fully realize what he'd said.

His jaw tightened in anger and he waved Jack out of the room, all the while making Jack promise never to tell his mother what he'd just heard.

"I expect you to pay for this carpet to be cleaned too, kiddo. And for my scotch. That was my most expensive bottle," Christian added as his son left the room.

Closing the door behind him, Jack watched his father sitting alone at his desk until he disappeared from view behind the large wooden frame.

Standing in the hallway, Jack finally gave in and let the tears stream down his cheeks. He couldn't believe his plan had backfired so badly. Now, not only did he owe his father a bottle of scotch and the money for the carpet, he'd also learned that his parents had no chance of being happy with each other.

_We were never meant to be together_. The words kept spinning around and around in his head, crushing any hope he'd had of them ever becoming a normal family.

His throat felt tight, constricted, and he slumped against the wall, his head in his hands, not moving until he heard a set of footsteps coming down the hall.

Not about the repeat the same experience all over again, Jack raced for his bedroom, diving under the covers fully-clothed and curling up beneath them. The stupid decanter was still in his arms and he pushed it away, revolted.

Lying still when he heard his door creak open, he pushed the crystal container further under the covers and fought to make his breathing sound even.

He heard the footsteps draw nearer to his bed, but nearly jumped in shock when his mother kissed his forehead. Though he tried to remain still, even snoring a bit, Jack had the sinking suspicion that his mother wasn't fooled.

"I'm sorry," she whispered against his ear. But it wasn't enough. Her apology couldn't explain away all the things Christian had done. And as Margo stood waiting for him to answer, Jack clenched his hands into fists, surprised at his own rage. He'd never thought it possible to hate his own father.

Finally his mother gave up and, possibly believing he really was asleep, tiptoed out of the room.

"Goodnight Jack," she said before shutting the door and leaving him all alone in the dark.

It took Jack a long time to fall asleep that night; he tossed and turned for hours, that conversation in the study running over in his mind. Just before he finally drifted off, Jack wondered what it would be like to have a real family.

He hoped someday he would get to find out.


	3. Chapter 2: The Escape

Thank you everyone for your lovely reviews. You really make me want to keep writing. Anyway, sorry for the delay in posting this, hopefully the next chapter won't take as long. :)

* * *

**Chapter Two: The Escape**

_Throw it away  
Forget yesterday  
We'll make the great escape  
We won't hear a word they say  
They don't know us anyway  
Watch it burn  
Let it die  
'Cause we are finally free tonight  
_~ Boys Like Girls, _The Great Escape_

_Jack first ran away from home two days after the fight with his father._

He was mad at the world. Mad at his dad for treating him like a child, mad at his mom for not standing up for herself and, if Jack was being honest, for him. And he was mad at both his parents for pretending that nothing had ever happened on the night of his party.

Now, two days later, the house was filled with even more silence than before, a silence weighted heavy with words left unsaid. Jack wasn't sure how much more he could handle. He worried that he would snap, would start shouting things that really _should_ remain unsaid, instead of the ones that mattered. But he knew that would only make things worse, which was the last thing he wanted since he was in a lot of trouble already.

His father was still reminding him of the two hundred dollars Jack owed for the scotch, not including the cost of the carpet, and Jack was starting to panic at the thought of all that money hanging over his head. Christian was also refusing to tell Jack where he could get that kind of money, and Jack didn't dare ask his mother for help.

But that morning it didn't matter anyway, because Jack was finally done; with everything. He was so tired of the strange looks his parents were giving him – Christian one of smug satisfaction, Margo one of pity – and the shame he felt every time he walked past his father's study, as if he had failed Christian somehow.

This time though, Jack wasn't going to be intimidated; this decision was his and his alone. No longer would he be powerless, constantly under the thumb of his father. That was one thing he could actually control and he was determined to do something about it.

So as he packed his bag for daycare, a summer program his parents had enrolled him in – if only to get him out of the house – Jack found himself adding a different variety of items than he normally would. Even as he placed the items in his backpack – a change of clothing, some granola bars he'd found stashed underneath his bed, and a picture of him with his grandpa Ray, the only person he could ever relate to – it still hadn't sunk in what he was doing. Yet.

The last object to go in his already crowded pack was the decanter he'd taken from his father's office. It was almost an instinctual reaction for him to pack it, though he stood there staring at the object for a long time, a silent debate going on in his head, before he could justify bringing it with him. In the end Jack decided to take the precious crystal, if only as a reminder of the life he had come from, and as a warning to never go back.

* * *

It was only as he began walking the few blocks to daycare that he finally understood what he was about to do. Before he could change his mind, he turned the corner and went left instead of right – the way he would normally take to the daycare.

Having no plan, Jack only knew he wanted to keep walking and walking until he couldn't take another step, until he had absolutely no idea where he was. Until he could distance himself from his screwed up family.

But as the morning dragged on, Jack began questioning his decision more and more. He was hot, tired and utterly alone, more than he'd ever felt before. And, truth be told, it frightened him. He tried to keep his mind occupied by counting birds or the number of red cars that passed by; anything to keep his mind off the absolute terror growing inside him.

By lunchtime he'd stopped to rest at least five times, had eaten almost all of his granola bars – which, to his dismay, were quite stale – and wanted desperately to go home. He wasn't thinking about how his parents would react when they found out he'd missed daycare, or how he'd have to continue dealing with his father's self-righteous attitude – the very thing he'd been trying to escape – if he returned. In fact, he wasn't really thinking at all.

The only thing he wanted now was to be safe at home, sheltered and protected from the big wide world outside. And he wouldn't mind some decent food either. But the problem wasn't that he didn't want to go home, the problem was that he didn't know where home was.

In his rush to get away, Jack had gotten completely turned around and had no idea where to go. He knew that Los Angeles was a big city, but he'd never imagined it to be quite this huge. Its mere buildings were daunting as they towered above him, all trying to touch the sky. But the maze of alleyways and busy streets seemed much more confusing now that he wanted to retrace his steps.

He distinctly remembered crossing at least one very busy road – and getting honked at by a dozen drivers in the process – but he had no idea which road that was; L.A. was full of them. No matter how frightened he was though, Jack wasn't about to give up yet. There was no need to panic, not until he'd at least tried finding his way home.

But all too soon the sun started to go down and his fears started to become very, very real. He'd never noticed how different the city became when the lights went down. He walked briskly, clutching the straps of his backpack in sheer terror, as he passed by groups of people he wished he'd gone his entire life without seeing.

Their eyes followed behind him, watching him intently. _What is little boy like you doing out here? _they asked. One person actually reached out to grab him, nearly snagging his backpack before he darted out of reach. Whimpering, he dashed into the street without thinking, his mind only focused on getting away. He barely noticed when a car screeched to a stop beside him, though he felt himself scream as a hand dragged him into the backseat.

"Jack? What in god's name are you doing out here?" a voice asked, sounding so familiar that he looked up eagerly. It took him a moment to recognize the lady in the front seat, but he finally remembered her to be Jessica's mom, one of the other kids at the daycare.

"Shouldn't you be at home?" Mrs. Finnley prompted, still waiting for an answer. Jack nodded slowly, so overcome with relief that he couldn't speak. The older woman nodded, as if that settled it.

"Alright then, I'm taking you back to your house," she told him kindly, quickly hiding the confusion that filled her eyes.

On the ride home Jack remained silent, his head nodding forwards as he drifted off to sleep. By the time Mrs. Finnley pulled up to the front of his house he was sound asleep in the backseat, only to be awakened by the flashing lights that surrounded his front yard.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he blinked rapidly to make sure he wasn't dreaming. "What's going on?" he wondered.

"I think your parents are looking for you," was Mrs. Finnley's answer. Helping him out of the car, the two had barely set foot on the lawn before they were surrounded by police, the officers' uniforms nearly blending in with the darkness; only their gleaming badges were visible.

"Who are you?" the nearest man asked, frowning down at Jack who shied away from his intimidating gaze.

"This is Jack Shephard, Margo and Christian's son," Jessica's mom answered for him. The officer raised an eyebrow, but nodded, leading the way inside.

"Jack!" a voice called his name and before he knew it, he was being swept into a hug so tight he could hardly breathe.

"Mom?" he asked with wonder, startled by her reaction; she'd never shown him this much emotion before.

"I was so worried. We got a call from the daycare saying you'd never arrived and when you didn't come home, I – I thought... Don't you _ever _do that again," she scolded him, tears in her eyes. Jack couldn't look her in the eye, ashamed for his actions now.

But before he could even begin to apologize, he heard the unmistakable clack of his father's shoes on the tiled floor and he winced; now that he was safe and sound, he was afraid to find out how much trouble he was in. His father didn't even acknowledge him at first, talking to the policemen and thanking them for their time. Only when every last squad car had pulled away did he turn in Jack's direction. He wasn't looking at his son though, he was staring at Mrs. Finnley.

Margo spoke up before he had a chance to. "I can't even begin to tell you how grateful we are. Thank you so much for bringing Jack home," she said earnestly. Mrs. Finnley nodded, telling them it was no trouble and she had best be on her way.

Now completely alone with his mother and father, Jack peeked out at Christian from under his mother's arm, still captured in her embrace. He was allowed one brief second of relief – his father's expression was strangely blank – before the explosion began, and the very foundation of life as he knew it was shattered.

"Get out." At first Christian's words didn't make any sense; Jack thought he was kidding until he saw the set of his father's mouth and realized he was completely serious.

Even Margo was confused. "What?" she asked. "What are you saying? We just got our son back and you want him to _leave _again?"

Christian nodded gravely. "If Jack can't appreciate the life he was with us, if he's going to turn his back on all we have given him and run away, then who are we to stop him?" He turned to look directly at Jack, who shuddered at the pure, unmasked outrage in his father's eyes.

"I don't know why you came home, son. I don't know what you were expecting, but you were better off staying away. You had your chance and you lost it, now _get out_." He said the last two words with more fury than Jack would have thought possible.

Beginning to understand how dire the situation was, Jack turned helplessly to his mother, who, he saw, was crying openly now.

Wasn't she going to say anything? Wasn't she going to try and stop him from leaving?

His questions were answered by her silence, more hurtful than his father's dismissal. She made his mind up for him. If he wasn't even worth the effort, then what did he really have to stay for anyway? His heart was beating heavily in his chest, Jack stood shakily, staring up at his father with all the courage he could muster.

"Fine," he said with more confidence than he felt, turning on his heel and walking slowly down the hallway, which seemed much longer than it had before. He paused at the doorknob, waiting to see if anyone would call him back, half-hoping it was still some joke. No one said a word.

In the silence that surrounded him, Jack left, shutting the door quietly behind him. And just like that, he was on his own, the vast expanse of the world now at his fingertips.

* * *

Up next: Jack makes a new friend. Any guesses as to who that might be? ;)


	4. Chapter 3: The First Meeting

Thanks for the reivews. :)

* * *

**Chapter Three: The First Meeting**

_Isn't anyone trying to find me?  
__Won't somebody come take me home?  
__It's a damn cold night  
__Trying to figure out this life  
__Won't you take me by the hand  
__Take me somewhere new  
__I don't know who you are but I  
__I'm with you  
_~Avril Lavigne, _I'm With You_

_Kate Austen first met Jack Shephard when she was four years old._

_The cloud of black smoke billows behind her, chasing her through the field of dark green. In the back of her mind she knows this is a dream, one she's been having an awful lot these days, but she doesn't wake up._

_The scene has become so familiar that she is already expecting what will happen next. But expecting something and actually experiencing it are two different things, which she discovers as she falls off the cliff._

_Her scream tears from her throat, lost in the roar of the waterfall beside her. She hits the lake with a splash, sinking beneath its depths. But she can't escape the monster for long. All too soon her air supply runs out – why that happens even in a dream, she doesn't know – and she is swimming for the surface._

_She notices the difference abruptly once her head emerges from the water. Though she takes great gulps of fresh air, letting it fill her lungs, her attention is focused on the forest at the side of her vision._

_Something is moving in the cover of the trees. It isn't the monster, that will flow down the face of the cliff in a few moments. She wonders what else could be there; in the many times she's had this dream, she has always been alone. Only she and the mysterious smoke monster have existed._

_Curious to find something new she glides out of the water – more graceful than in real life; she's actually had only one swim lesson so far – and climbs onto the far bank. Before she can get the chance to explore, she hears the metallic clinking noise that announces the arrival of the monster._

_She begins running, not because she is afraid, but because it's what is expected of her here. Her feet carry her through the trees, deeper into the heart of the jungle. She brushes away stray branches and leaves; despite her best efforts her hair is soon a tangled mess of twigs. __But she has no concern for her appearance right now. Her attention is entirely focused on the faint light in front of her. This too is something she has not seen in her dream before._

_She heads for it, her eagerness making her lose her focus enough to trip on a tree root. Sprawling face-first in the dirt, she winces when she hears a cracking sound from one of her legs. She cries out in pain, struggling to get up before the monster gets too close, her efforts in vain when her injured leg gives out beneath her._

_Suddenly a hand is reaching out to her in the darkness, pulling her to her feet and, strangely enough, erasing most of her pain. She feels the rough, calloused palm against hers and manages to find the strength to move, albeit a little slowly._

_"Come on," the owner of the hand calls. She is startled to hear the voice of a young boy; his hands feel like those of a much older man. The darkness pulls away enough for her to take in his appearance._

_Short, chestnut-coloured hair frames his face, highlighting the brown in his deep hazel eyes. He moves with a grace unheard of for someone his age – maybe just a year older than her, she thinks._

_"We have to move," he says again, urging her forwards. She grasps his hand tighter, holding on for dear life, thankful she is no longer alone in this strange place. She tries to ask him questions – who is he, where did he come from? – as they run, but his sole focus is to keep moving._

_She gives in, simply grateful for another human presence as she and the boy push each other faster, trying to escape their impending doom, together_

* * *

The smell of smoke drifting into the bedroom slowly aroused her from unconsciousness. She wanted to lie still and hold onto what remained of her dream – so much nicer than the ones she usually had – but the smell was too strong. Coughing, she grudgingly rolled out of bed and pried open the stiff, dusty window. She stared out at the crowded street below her, reveling in the scent of the fresh breeze as it drove away the smokiness, her mind still occupied with her latest nightmare.

Maybe she kept dreaming about a pillar of smoke because she smelt it so much during her waking hours. Was it possible that her subconscious managed to manifest her disgust for the odour in her dreams?

"Kate, are you up?" her mom called from the kitchen, interrupting her internal debate.

Taking one last look at the scene in front of her – thankful that, while she and her family didn't live in the best neighborhood, at least their apartment had a decent view – she slowly made her way into the kitchen.

"Mommy why are you smoking in here?" she asked, sprinting around the corner and skidding to a stop along the tiled floor. Diane was sitting at the table, cigarette in one hand, newspaper in the other. She hadn't opened any windows, making the smoky scent even stronger in here. Almost gagging, Kate rushed to open the glass door that led onto a small balcony.

"What are you doing?" Diane asked, watching her daughter curiously.

"Getting rid of the smell," Kate explained, as if this should be obvious. "Daddy hates it."

Her mother sighed, taking a long drag on her cigarette before putting it out.

"So what do you want for breakfast today, Katie? You have to eat fast so we can go to the grocery store."

The little girl hopped up to the table eagerly. "Frosted Flakes please," she answered.

"Are you sure you don't want Cheerios?" Diane wondered. She'd heard that most young children liked routine for their breakfast cereal. "That's what you had yesterday."

Kate shook her head vehemently. "Nah. It's borin' having the same thing every day. I wanna be different. Keep it fresh."

Diane laughed at her grave expression. "I think you've been listening to your father too much," she said, still chuckling as she placed Kate's favourite red bowl in front of her. It never failed to amaze her the things her daughter could come up with.

"So why Frosted Flakes?" she asked. "I know we don't have a lot of cereals to choose from, but why not Froot Loops?"

This time it was Kate's turn to laugh, then abruptly she turned serious again. "'Cause Frosted Flakes are gr-r-reat, Mommy. And today's gonna be a gr-r-reat day. I just know it."

"Oh yeah?" Despite trying to match Kate's solemn tone, Diane's voice managed to hold a bit of amusement in it, deep underneath the surface. "And why is that?"

"Because I'm gonna meet a new friend today," she said brightly, remembering the boy in the jungle. "I know 'cause I dreamed it last night. And Daddy always says that dreams are how we tell the future."

"Of course," Diane agreed fervently. "So where are you going to meet this friend?"

Kate frowned, puzzling over the question as though her life depended on it. "I dunno," she finally admitted, causing her mother to smile brightly.

"Well I guess you'll just have to wait and see. Maybe we'll meet your friend on our way to the store. But we can't go until you finish eating, so hurry up and let's go."

The little girl nodded, grinning hugely and shoveling her food in her mouth, excited to begin the day's adventure.

* * *

When Jack awoke that morning he lay still, yesterday's events completely forgotten. Only when he felt something tickling his nose did he slide his eyes open, his forehead wrinkling in confusion as he stared up at a dark gray sky.

Scratching his nose absently he jumped when his fingers connected with something alive; a bug. That was when he realized that the comfy sheets he thought he was lying on were nothing more than blades of grass.

At first he didn't understand. What was he doing outside? Why wasn't he in his bed? And then it slowly came back to him: walking in the door last night only to be forced out minutes later by his father. This morning he woke up homeless. The thought brought back his previous feelings of panic from last night.

Instead of rejoicing at finally being free, the way he had yesterday morning – a freedom that he understood now to be entirely false; back then he'd still had a place to call home – Jack had walked until his feet ached and he threatened to collapse from exhaustion. Then, too tired to move another step, he'd sat down on the soft grass beside a park bench, staring with wide-eyes at the bright lights of the night around him. So exhausted that he felt like he was about to collapse at any second, he'd refused to fall asleep, afraid what would happen when he closed his eyes.

So he had sat, unmoving and out of site from passersby, until the first rays of sun began peeking over the horizon. Only then had he allowed himself to relax and, feeling more at ease in the daytime, close his eyes, drifting into a deep and dreamless sleep.

And now – he didn't know how much later, but he didn't feel rested at all so he couldn't have been asleep more than a few hours – the sun had disappeared behind the almost-black clouds of a promising storm.

He wondered what he would do if it started to rain. Where would he go?

Maybe his father had calmed down a bit after last night and would be willing to let him come home. Jack highly doubted it; the fierce light in his father's eyes didn't look like it would go away after one night. And even if his father was more forgiving now, Jack wasn't sure he even wanted to go home. If Christian would so easily throw him out on the street, how did Jack know he wasn't going to do it again for some other stupid reason?

No, he would do better to stay out here rather than go back home. After all, not even his mother looked like she would miss him that much. The way she'd let Christian bully Jack around last night brought angry tears to his eyes now. He brushed them away, refusing to feel betrayed by a woman who clearly didn't care about him at all.

He'd just have to make it by on his own.

Remembering that he still had some supplies left in his backpack from his attempted run-away yesterday, Jack quickly pulled it out from underneath his head – it had been his makeshift pillow last night – and took inventory. He had an extra pair of shorts and a shirt, one more stale granola bar, the picture of his grandpa, and the decanter.

It wasn't much, but it would have to do. His stomach grumbled loudly but he refused to eat the granola bar yet; he'd wait until his hunger grew worse. This time when his stomach rumbled it wasn't from hunger, but from fear. For the first time he realized just how desperate his situation was. He had almost no food and no way of getting more.

He had no money – wasn't that the reason he'd ran away in the first place – and at first he shied away from the idea of stealing; ever since he'd been old enough to walk his parents had drilled it into him how it was wrong to take things that didn't belong to him.

But hadn't they taken his home away from him? And hadn't they stolen his right to have a happy, normal childhood? Did that mean stealing wasn't so bad? They weren't being punished for what they did to him, so maybe he wouldn't be either. And it wasn't like he would take things just for the fun of it. His actions were only for survival. That had to count for something, right?

He was about to find out.

* * *

Standing in front of the tiny supermarket – cushioned between a discount jewelry shop and a fortune telling establishment, just around the block from where he'd fallen asleep last night – Jack hefted his backpack into a more comfortable position on his shoulders, pushed open the swinging glass doors, and stepped inside.

Staring at the rows and rows of food, stacked on shelves as tall as the ceiling, his stomach rumbled, the sound seeming to echo across the white-washed walls and down the aisles. He fought to control the blush rising in his cheeks, trying to quite his discontented body.

He'd given in and eaten the granola bar, grimacing at the stale taste with every bite, but it had done nothing to ease his pains of hunger. In fact, he was beginning to think his small snack had made them worse.

He began wandering aimlessly, walking up and down the aisles, staring at all the different food products, trying to build up the nerve to take something. It was simple, he'd decided; all he had to do was slip something small in his backpack and walk out. The biggest problem he had to face was remaining calm and not act guilty.

But he was guilty. He was already feeling it. The thought of taking even one thing without paying for it was twisting his stomach into knots even worse than the hunger. That was why he was only going to take one thing; something that he could make last for a while so he wouldn't have to resort to stealing again any time soon.

He hoped he'd have a place to call home again before then, but he wasn't overly optimistic.

Now he just had to choose something. He was debating the pros and cons of crackers versus a small box of cereal when the doors opened again, sending in a rush of cold air. Jack shivered, rubbing his hands along his arms for warmth. He wished he'd thought to pack a jacket.

The storm was continuing to brew outside, he could see the clouds drawing closer out the window. Jack wondered how long he could stay in here without being too conspicuous; he wasn't prepared to battle the rain right now.

He watched idly as a girl who couldn't be much younger than himself pulled her mother along eagerly, heading down the dessert isle. He glanced down, jealousy making his heart beat faster; that girl didn't know how lucky she was.

Jack went back to strolling around the store, finally settling on a package of pretzels, which he shoved into his pack, looking around furtively. A quick glance out the window showed the weather was rapidly worsening, but he knew he couldn't stay in here any longer. The best he could hope for would be to find some sort of shelter before the rain hit.

Walking quickly towards the doors, his steps speeding up as his nervousness increased, Jack almost made it to out before he felt a hand on his shoulder. He jumped, whipping around to see the store clerk glaring at him, his arms crossed over his chest.

Not even pausing to think, Jack bolted for the exit, flinching as the clerk's hand shot out to grab his backpack. The man ripped it open, his eyes flashing with anger as the pretzel bag fell out, along with all of the pack's other contents. Jack dropped to the ground, snatching the decanter before it could hit the tiled floor and smash into a million pieces.

"Were you going to pay for this?" the employee asked, shaking the snack food bag vigorously.

Jack couldn't move, he was frozen in fear and shame. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the young girl watching him intently; he looked away, not wanting to meet her eyes.

"I said were you planning to buy this, or were you just going to walk out of here with it you dirty, rotten thieft?" the man asked again. Without waiting for an answer, he hauled Jack to his feet, dragging him to the cash register.

"I guess I'm just going to have to call your parents then, if you won't talk to me. What's their number?" Again Jack had no answer. There was no way he was about to involve his parents in this; they were already ashamed of him, he didn't need to make things worse.

"I could always involve the police..." the clerk said, trailing off threateningly. Jack found himself unfreezing at his words. He had no idea what to do if the police came here. Would they arrest him? He couldn't take that chance.

Wrenching himself free of the man's grip, Jack raced to the door, stooping to pick up his things and shove them into his pack before dashing outside. He refused to stop despite the store's attendant cursing at him, his words following Jack down the street.

Turning a corner, he raced down an alley, pausing behind a dumpster to catch his breath. He shivered violently, feeling the first raindrops hit his skin. Too afraid to look for a better place to hide, Jack curled up against the green metal, his back resting against a brick building behind him.

His heart was still racing and he couldn't seem to wrap his mind around what had just happened. He'd been caught; that much, at least, had sunk in. But what would he have done if the police had showed up? He couldn't keep running away forever. And he couldn't hide away forever either. Being as young as he was, he was likely to get noticed wandering around the streets all the time.

He needed a more permanent solution...

The sound of someone breathing heavily caught his attention, silencing his thoughts. He automatically recoiled against the wall, as though trying to disappear inside it. Jack frowned at himself for being so cowardly. If it was time for him to face the music, then what good would hiding do? He would walk forward with his head held high, the way he had last night; he would be intimidated no longer.

Peering around the side of the dumpster, ready to walk out at any moment, but not wanting to give away his presence for the wrong person – he could never be too careful, after all – he was surprised at the sight that greeted him. It was the girl from the store, the brunette one who was watching him being caught for shoplifting at the front of the store. What was she doing here? She must have chased after him, he assumed, judging by the way she was panting. She was fast to have caught up with him this quickly.

"I can see you," she said, giggling softly. "Why don't you come out? I'm not gonna bite."

Jack clenched his fists. Now he was even being teased by a little girl? He wasn't about to take that lying down.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, walking towards her, trying to intimidate her. "Why did you follow me?"

"What's your name?" she said in return, ignoring his question and standing her ground despite his close proximity. He had to admit, he was a little impressed by her bravery.

"What's yours?" Jack countered, not about to give in to her tactics.

"I'm Kate," she replied cheerfully. "And I followed you 'cause I've met you before. In a dream."

* * *

**A/N:** No, this fic isn't going to involve the Island in any way, I just couldn't stop myself from giving Old Smokey an appearance. The land of dreams is a strange place, after all. ;)


End file.
